Yay! Look at me! I'm updating!
Sorry for the wait, and thank you for all the favs, and for putting up with me. You will probably be able to tell that this chapter was written at different points in time. Actually, the majority of it was written during my Short Story class, which is only about an hour long, and I didn't always continue where I left off. That and having to write newspaper articles, I've been stuck in 'short and succinct' mode, which is very hard to turn off.
It's unnerving to wake up in an unfamiliar setting even when a person is prepared for it before his or her head hits the pillow. It's downright frightening when that person doesn't even remember falling asleep and wakes up in a room that he or she barely spent five minutes in beforehand.
Penelope woke with a start, knowing before she even opened her eyes that something was off. For one thing, there was nothing supporting her feet. She hoisted herself up to a sitting position, the top half of her body braced by her arms stretched out behind her. The memory that was slowly unfolding seemed more like a dream than reality, yet her surroundings and the soft satin sheets against her palms proved just how real it was.
So then, had all those years in the Storybrooke hospital been the dream?
Almost floating through her own life, Penelope slid off the bed, wandering around the sparsely furnished room that was ultimately empty of anything resembling her presence. The only familiar thing was the worn duffle bag either waiting to be unpacked or carried off again. She left it at the foot of the bed as she pulled open the door that exited to the hallway, jumping slightly as it squeaked in protest.
Somewhere in the depths of the house, the vastness of which was still a mystery to her, a clock ticked. It's deep, reverberating tones accentuated the silence. She was so used to some kind of chaos moving around her, the complete lack of sound made her feel so… sane. Almost claustrophobically so. For the first time in many years she was finally alone with her thoughts, and she had no idea what to do with them.
Fiddling with the hem of her shirt she wandered further down the hall, away from the stairs that had initially led her to that spot. Her steps seemed to fall in time with the movement of the invisible second hand, adding to the ghost-like quality of her existence. Every once in awhile she would pass a door, but was too afraid to open it.
"I was wondering in when Sleeping Beauty would wake."
Penelope shot a good foot in the air, jolted from her trance-like state. She whirled around, searching for the source of the voice. She had walked past an open door that revealed a dimly lit room. Penelope had to walk inside to inspect it further. It must have been an office or library, because there was a desk on one side of the room, framed by several bookshelves. Sitting at the desk, half-lit by the small lamp, was the man himself.
"How did you sleep?"
She frowned as she turned his question over in her mind, sliding her fingers down the spines of the old books on the bookshelf.
"I thought maybe I was dreaming at first." The books felt solid and slightly dusty.
"Well, that's always better than a nightmare, isn't it?" He smiled almost mischievously at her, and she squinted her eyes at him.
"I'm not sure which is which anymore."
"What? Dreams and nightmares, or dreams and reality?"
Penelope moved away from the books, brows elevated as she browsed the rest of the knickknacks decorating the office. "Good question," she answered.
Mr. Gold chuckled and lifted himself from the ornate chair behind his desk, grabbing his cane as he pushed his way towards the middle of the office.
"Come on, dearie, let's have a cup of tea. That should clear your head a bit."
It was then that Penelope remembered Ashley's promise of a tour of the house. She must have gone home by that time, and Penelope pressed her lips together, wondering what the girl must think of her.
"Ashley will be back tomorrow, you can catch up then," Gold said, as if he had read her mind. It always unnerved her, the way that man seemed to know how she felt or what she was thinking. She had spent so many sessions with Dr. Hopper and still couldn't figure out the inner sanctum of her own mind, so how could Mr. Gold do it so easily?
He held his hand out, inviting her to take it as a guide, but Penelope decided to walk out of the office on her own. She turned in the direction she assumed the kitchen would be.
"Other way, dearie."
Penelope turned and headed the other way.
The village was small, and the entirety of its occupants could hear the yelling that was coming from the mill. Excitement there was scarce, so a handful of young girls pulled their buckets to the well in the middle of the square to better hear the squabble. The Miller and his daughter, Shea, had been at odds ever since she had turned eighteen. The mill had not been profitable for several years, and the miller was resigned to marry his daughter off to the first wealthy man that came through the village. His daughter, of course, was not very receptive of his plan. She didn't argue with her father often; in fact, ever since the mill began to struggle she had acquired several odd jobs around the village, including some light housekeeping for Rumpelstiltskin while his wife, Hildy, was pregnant. They couldn't pay her much, and Rumpelstiltskin always felt guilty about that, as he considered her pleasant company far more valuable than her less than impeccable cleaning.
Eventually the ruckus died down and there was quiet for a few minutes before Shea flew out of the house, whipping her cloak around her shoulders as she stomped away. The girls at the well bowed their heads to avoid the suspicion of their eavesdropping, trying not to let their eyes follow the girl as she passed them and headed out of the village.
"You can leave at any time, you know," Gold set the expensive china in front of Penelope, who seemed detached and lost in the woods just outside the parlor window. She glanced down at the tea cup, but Gold guessed that she barely saw it. "Peppermint tea. Great for soothing frazzled nerves."
"And where would I go?" she asked, finally looking up at him.
"Well, that's up to you," he grunted slightly as he lowered himself into a chair across from her. "Isn't it?"
She cocked her head and considered her cup of tea again. "So I can leave at any time, just so long as I have nowhere to go," she squinted her eyes at him with a trained suspicion. "Because what good would I be to you then, if I actually had somewhere to go?"
"Well, what good are you to me now, if you believe that you are being forced to stay here?" he countered. "Indentured slavery is illegal, dearie, and so is kidnapping. I would never dream of keeping you here against your will. I'm not a beast," he smirked at her.
"And I'm no beauty," she said, recognizing his fairy tale reference. "Although, I don't really know what you want of me. I was hoping that you could enlighten me." She sniffed at her tea before taking a sip barely big enough to wet her lips.
"I just want to protect you, Penelope. You were placed in the hospital for your own safety, and now you've been taken out for the same reason. I want to give you some of the comfort that I have to offer, but you have to be the one to accept it." His dark eyes bore into hers from across the table, pulling her in with soft pleas and deeper enticement.
Penelope held his gaze for a long time, not quite wanting to break the spell, but not wanting to fall victim to it, either. He could be so beautiful sometimes, and promise even more beautiful things. That made him the most dangerous man she had ever known.
"So I heard the news," Jack said as he plopped down on a stool next to Shea.
"Well, that was fast," Shea's voice was muffled by the mug she was staring into. She could, unfortunately, clearly see the bottom of it. The truth was, Jack actually hadn't heard of the news very quickly. It was a small town, and walls were thin. Had he learned of her dilemma before she had started her first drink, then she would have been surprised.
"So what are you going to do?" Jack asked as he gave the bartender the universal signal for two more drinks. There had been a long time when the bartender tried to serve Jack nothing but milk, but Shea, who was well known for having bigger balls than her slightly effeminate friend, was also known for being a little crazy. The bartender didn't want Shea to test her theory of just how combustible the bar was.
"What can I do? I don't want to forsake my own happiness, but neither do I want to subject my father to poverty." She put her elbows on the bar and tucked her chin into the nook of her arms. "Ultimately, if my father loses the mill, I become homeless too."
Jack frowned, sympathizing with his friend. His pockets were likewise as empty as hers. "You know that if I had the money…"
Shea smirked, and gave Jack a grateful nod. "Thanks, darling, but I know I'm not your type."
He shrugged as he swallowed half of his ale. "I don't know, I can probably fake it."
This caused Shea to laugh, and she instantly looked better for it, her large, doll-like eyes twinkling with slight inebriation. Jack stared past her, seeming to contemplate something through the window behind her.
"How much does your father need to secure the mill, anyway? I've got a pretty decent sized cow I could sell…"
Shea gave Jack a mock glare, and he met her gaze. "I will not let you sell Dijk! You love that cow more than me." She squinted her eyes at him. "I know how much you love that cow."
Jack blushed at her insinuation. "Shea! That's offensive!"
"It's a jest!" she laughed. "But I still won't let you sell her. Him? Which is it now?"
"You're drunk."
"I wish," she muttered as she finished the mug Jack had handed her earlier.
Shea's eyes trailed down into the depths of the bar, drawn to stare at something she had spied earlier. Rumpelstiltskin sat alone at a table in a corner, mulling over a habit he had recently picked up. It had been easy, at first, for her to ignore his presence, but the slow dissolution of her inhibitions was making it hard to focus on her resolution.
Noticing her shift in attention, Jack glanced back at Rumpelstiltskin before leaning over and whispering "What are you doing?"
Shea wasn't sure, other than wondering if Rumpel knew, had heard, or if he even cared what happened to her. She wanted to ask. She was brave, but not that brave.
Something heavy covered her hand, and she looked up to find Jack's hand around hers. She looked at him and he shook his head. 'It's not your place,' he seemed to say.
She smiled, "Thank you."
"I give very good advice," Jack said around another mouthful of ale. "I just seldom ever follow it." She giggled and Jack patted her hand as he slid off of his stool. "Come on, I'll walk you home."
As soon as he said that, they both realized the dilemma, their faces falling as they exchanged glances.
"I can't go home," her tone was more desperate than rebellious.
"What else can you do?" Jack couldn't let her stay at his house. He didn't have authority to make that decision, and his home was too small anyway to hide her from his mother.
Once again her eyes wandered over to Rumpel's hunched form.
"Shea… no…" Jack warned.
"Just for the night," she pleaded. For some reason, she needed Jack's permission, needed to know that what she was going to do was acceptable. She didn't always trust herself. "I'll figure out what needs to be done, which will be far easier with the sun shining."
Jack sighed. He knew her decision was made. If he fought her, he would only succeed in giving her a guilty conscience, but ultimately he couldn't stop her.
Both of them knew better, but neither made the best decisions.
"We'll find a solution," he nodded at her, grabbing his jacket. "Tomorrow."
Left alone, the alignment of tables and chairs seemed to open up a perfect path for Shea to follow, and she wondered if it was temptation or salvation that beckoned her wander. Sometimes one's demise can be shrouded in hope.
And it was a surprisingly short walk to find out which awaited her.
Rumpelstiltskin was beginning to stand as Shea walked up behind him, so when he turned to head towards the exit of the bar she was there to greet him. "Shea!" he exclaimed in surprise. "What on earth are you doing here?" The tavern wasn't, in his opinion, a decent place for innocent girls to be wandering around. That was what he told himself, anyway. In reality he was quite ashamed for Shea to see him in his current state.
"I was in need of an escort home," she replied as she grabbed his elbow with both hands, steadying him as she walked with him to the door. "And I can see perhaps you need one as well."
The warmth in his cheeks was not entirely the fault of the draughts he had been drinking. "Of course." Thoughts were flooding his mind as he walked in step with her out of the tavern. Things he wanted to say, questions he wanted to ask, conversations he would have liked to start.
In the distance, an owl emitted a mournful hoot.
Those soft hands shifted on his arm, and Shea changed her grip so that he seemed to escort her through the street as if he were a gentleman. She sighed and stared up at the stars, and the small smile on her face was transferring some of her contentment to him.
"Have you ever made a wish on one of those?" she asked him. He looked up at the patches of white orbs, mere glitter compared to the diamonds reflected in her eyes.
"No," he stated simply.
Penelope sighed, her head bowing. Rumpel was afraid he had hurt her feelings. "It must be nice," she murmured, "having everything you could possibly desire."
Her statement confused him, and his brows bunched together. "What do you mean?" She looked at him as if the answer were obvious.
"Well, you have everything you could ever want, so why would you need to wish upon a star?"
The smile he gave her was sad and somewhat shameful. "No, dearie, I just don't believe that my wishes will come true." He figured that would be the end of it, but Shea stopped, her grip on his arm causing him to take a step back to her.
"What do you mean?"
He wasn't sure how to answer that question. He was a poor man stuck in a common trade and marriage of convenience. He had known very few happy times in his life, most of which occurred after he and his wife had moved to that village, where land was cheap and just a little bit more affordable for him. The way he saw it, his fate as a simpleton was set, and the things that he wanted he was not only afraid to have, but very much aware of how far out of reach they were. "Not everyone gets a happy ending."
Now he had hurt her feelings. Her lower lip trembled, something he had come to realize occurred both when she was angry or sad. "Certainly not if you don't at least try." Her lips pursed together and she tugged at his arm. "Come here. I want to show you something."
Rumpel allowed her to drag him off of the road and into the weeds growing forgotten between the dark alleys of shops and cottages. Their footsteps gave way in the soft dirt that had seen rain just the day before as they went further out, towards the staggered trees that would eventually become a dense forest. The area was bright where the trees were still sparse, the moonlight bouncing off of a sliver of water that the two followed to a large pond. Penelope let go of Rumpel's arm and slid out of her slippers, wading into the dark water that seemed to swallow her delicate ankles. Gathering up the folds of her skirt, she knelt down and let her fingers dip into the water, watching the ripples bend the moon.
"Come here," she beckoned him closer and he did as he was told, letting the water seep into his boots as he came to stand beside her once more. He saw the dark water that they stood in and hoped there were no snakes slithering among the reeds.
"I never knew my mother," Shea told him, still staring at the reflection of the moon on the water's surface, which was quivering now from a lazy breeze. She had already told him about how her mother died when she was too young to remember, but she had never told him what she was about to tell him that moment. "My dad said she was a mermaid, which wasn't true of course, but he liked to tell me stories when I was little, and I liked to imagine that she was amazing. So I found this place, and I would sit here, and I would think 'maybe if I could swim I could find her.' … So I jumped in." Rumpel looked at her in shock, but Shea continued, never meeting his eyes. "The surface of the water looks a lot different during the day, but once I was falling into the depths it became so dark. I knew that I wouldn't be able to see her.
"I don't know if the next part really happened, or if I dreamed it. I found myself staring up at the sun again, but I couldn't see anyone that might have saved me. I thought perhaps it was my mother, but there was a little frog there, staring at me. And he spoke to me. He told me I ought to be more careful, that I had almost landed on his castle. 'Your castle?' I asked, and he said that in his world he was a prince. In his world you could be anything you wanted to be, because the water would bend to your will." Shea chuckled and finally looked up at Rumpelstiltskin. "Alright, looking back I can tell that it was definitely a dream. But it gave me an idea. What if we could shape our own lives? What if destiny molded to our wills like water to a container? " She scooped some water into her hands and brought it up so that he could see the reflection of the sky. "Look," she said with a grin, "I'm holding the moon in the palm of my hand."
Without thinking, Rumpel cupped Shea's hands with his own. He could feel the water seeping from between her fingers and pouring into his. "You are so beautiful," he whispered with awe. She didn't just hold the moon in the palm of her hands, she held it in her eyes and her smile, and she was offering it to him, along with the rest of the sky.
But he couldn't have it.
As he opened his mouth to say something he would probably regret, a frog croaked loudly, causing both of them to jump as it leapt towards them from the shallow water.
"Look! It's him!" Shea laughed as she grabbed her skirts and chased after it, splashing water around as she pounced on top of the amphibian. With a victorious grin she held up her catch of the day, a bloated green and brown frog that tried to wiggle out of her fingers. "Look how cute he is, Rumpel. Kiss him!"
"Oh no," he chuckled as he stumbled back, almost losing his footing as his feet stuck to the bottom of the pond. "I'm not that drunk."
She laughed again and placed the frog back in the water. It scooted away almost immediately, sending up bubbles where it disappeared. "I love frogs. Dream or no, I think I will always see them as rescuing me from a watery grave." Turning, she sloshed back towards Rumpelstilskin. "Guess we should head home." He nodded and they made their way back to town, pausing so Shea could pull her shoes back on. "Speaking of which, I was wondering if you could do me a favor."
"And what would that be?"
"Well…" she swallowed hard, trying to form the words in her head before they spilled out of her mouth. Delicate, she must be delicate. "Um, I'm afraid I need a place to stay…"
"Your father turned you out?" he asked, his tone in disbelief.
"Not exactly," she explained. "I may actually be in the process of running away." She gave him a sheepish, pleading look.
Rumpel shook his head, trying to understand. "Whatever for?"
Shea began squeezing some of the water out of her skirts. It gave her something to do while she avoided looking at the man beside her. "He wants to marry me off—basically sell me off, really, to save the mill. I—."
"You'll have to stay with the sheep," Rumpel decided abruptly, cutting her off. There was something very adverse about the idea of her getting married, and something downright horrible about the idea of her being married to someone she didn't even know. He knew a thing or two about arranged marriages, maybe not a lot, but enough to know that he didn't want Shea to be subjected to it. He successfully ignored the pang of jealousy.
Soon he was pounced upon, much like the frog had been, as Shea wrapped her arms around his neck. "Oh thank you, Rumpel!" she cried into his neck. Once again he felt his body heat up and was awkwardly aware of his hands. He felt like a hero and a scoundrel at the same time.
Penelope watched Mr. Gold's limp with childlike fascination as she followed him through his house. She had always known he had problems with his knee, but had never really cared. Every day seemed to open up more emotions and revelations to her, and she wondered what the institution had been feeding her that she felt like such a different person without the crutch of medication.
She didn't ask where they were going. She didn't feel much of a need to, since she had nowhere else to go. Her immediate future, which had always been nothing more than white walls and trays with plastic cups, had somehow gone rogue; Mr. Gold was now her North Star. Funny how things work out.
"So what happened to your leg?" she was still staring at it, head cocked to one side as if curiosity weighed down the right side of her brain.
"Fourteen years and just now getting to know me, eh?" he gave her a sideways grin as he winked at her. "Perhaps I'll let you wait fourteen more before I tell you." He continued walking but stopped as he realized that she had frozen with his remark. Looking back at her, he could see the color drained from her face.
Though much of the terrain had yet to be mapped and understood, her mind was something well visited, as she often retreated to it when scared, angry or confused. Here she wrapped herself in her security blanket, the fort that no amount of battery could desecrate, and looked through a little window she had hidden away that held everything she hoped to have one day. Most of the time the glass was frosted over, so she could barely make out what was on the other side of it. On this particular occasion she found herself frantically rubbing the glass with her cold little hands, wishing she could imagine a future for herself or make some sort of goal. Wishing she could make a wish.
"I… I didn't think…" Penelope stuttered, and Mr. Gold's soft voice so close to her shoulder startled her, but in an impossibly comforting way.
"Nevermind dearie," he whispered, "I didn't mean for you to think that you would always be trapped here."
She blinked and shook her head, her brow furrowed as she corrected him. "No… I've just never thought that far ahead. I…" Gold was only a few inches taller than Penelope, barely a head, and it seemed to bring him closer to her, so that he was all that she could see. Why did all of her memories of him paint him as someone that towered over her? When she realized she could smell the clean scent of his cologne she stepped back a little, suddenly uncomfortable with her lack of personal space. "I guess I just never realized what time was," she finished. "It always seemed to stand still in that place."
How could he tell her just how accurate she was? Mr. Gold shrugged, unperturbed by Penelope's shyness, and not a bit surprised. Instead he redirected her towards their route, certain that it would aid in her trust. "Come here. I want to show you something," he said to her as he cast open a door that led out onto the veranda. "Perhaps it will make you feel more at home."
There was a large aquarium that had the perfect amount of sunlight and shade placed along the railing next to a bench. Shea leaned over and looked inside, her eyes running over the dirt, sticks and various vegetation inside. "What is it?" she asked.
In response to her question Gold reached into the glass container and pulled out something green and brown and dropped it into her hands. She made a look of disgust as the frog croaked at her. "It's squishy." She said. She turned it over in her hands like an inanimate object before dropping it back in the aquarium, watching as it dove into the water that filled up one side of its personal little ecosystem.
Gold watched her carefully, both hands placed on top of his cane. "I thought you might enjoy a companion."
"Thanks," she said, still staring at the creature. "I've never seen one before. What is it?"
Of course, he should have known that this would happen. Part of the curse was that Regina, the darkest of souls, would take away anything that caused a person joy. He had been lucky in protecting a few precious things from her power; after all, it was his curse, and his luck was aided by the fact that Regina had never known a girl named Shea, though the threat of discovery was ever present. There were countless thousands of people that Regina never knew, but nevertheless condemned. This one was his, and he would prove that he was the one in control.
"It's a mermaid," he told her.
:Sometime in Fairytale World:
It was shortly after his daughter had become Queen that Henry began receiving the letters. He had been successful in hiding the papers from his clever daughter, but was worried that the subject of which would shortly end up at his door.
And a second daughter was a bit harder to hide than a scrap of paper.
After his wife had died, Henry had foolishly sought solace between the legs of another woman, a servant girl that often held odd jobs at several places, one of which included his mill. Once he left to live awash in the luxuries of the castle, another man took over, who she ended up marrying, but she was accusing Henry of being the father of her child. Unfortunately for him, the timing fell into place.
The new miller's wife wanted money, which he could easily give her, but Henry wasn't foolish; he knew it wouldn't end there. He was going to have to tie up this loose end so that he would never be in danger of being discovered. He couldn't bear to see the disappointment and anger in his daughter's eyes—she was already going through so much as it was.
He considered his eldest daughter as he racked his brain for a solution to the younger. They had gone from paupers to royalty in three days because of his daughter's special abilities; perhaps his other daughter had the same skills. If Henry could find a neighboring kingdom interested in making a deal, he could pass his problem to somebody else. The best thing would be that if she was discovered as false, she would be put to death and the woman would have nothing to hold over his head. He knew it was cruel, but his life was finally starting to go somewhere, and he would NOT allow anyone to tear it apart.
And if that meant that he had to send an innocent girl to her doom, so be it.
I know the last part is confusing. It's supposed to be.
So we get to see a little bit more of Rumpel as a man, albeit a drunk one. Still, I'm kind of glad how this chapter came out. Most of it is kind of cut and paste, but it ended up flowing almost seamlessly. I was surprised. Don't let the sweetness between the two in this chapter fool you! Something had to happen in his past for him to want revenge on Penelope, right? Schitz about to go down in a couple of chapters!
If anyone cares, Shea is pronounced (in my mind) Shay-uh. I was looking for some names from some lesser known legends and fables, and Shea means cunning or something along that line. I felt it was pretty close to Penelope in that respect.
So just so you know, the Beauty and the Beast reference was made BEFORE "Skin Deep." And I had not seen the previews. I had no idea, but I decided to keep it.
I think I will probably include Belle in the story. That will be interesting. I mean, they both spent time in a mental hospital.
Also, if you recognize the whole bit "I give very good advice" from Shea's gbf, you should. I stole it from Alice and Wonderland. Thanks, Disney!